Friday afternoon, I sit on Caleb's bed surrounded by flash cards while he gets ready for tonight's game. He's been quiet all day, that restless energy thrumming under his skin that he tries to hide but can't. Not from me.
This isn't just any game—scouts from three state colleges confirmed they're coming. Basketball might be his only shot at college, something he's never admitted caring about until I started talking about my own applications.
"You don't have to come," he says for the third time, pulling his jersey over his head. Number 23, lucky according to him. "You have the calculus retake Monday."
"I'll be there," I say, also for the third time. "I can study tomorrow. Tonight, I'm your girlfriend who screams embarrassingly loud when you make a three-pointer."
He crosses the room in two strides, kisses me softly. "You know you don't have to prove anything, right? The supportive girlfriend thing?"
"I want to be there. Not because I have to, but because I want to watch my boyfriend do something he loves."
The word 'boyfriend' still feels new on my tongue, official in a way that our previous arrangement never was. No more fake, no more games. Just us.
The gym is packed when I arrive, that unique smell of popcorn and floor wax and teenage excitement. I've never actually been to a basketball game before—another thing Good Girl Evie was too busy studying to experience. The energy is electric, contagious.
Marcus's girlfriend, Tiana, waves me over to the front section where the team girlfriends sit. It's surreal, being included in this group I once watched from afar, wondering what it felt like to belong.
"First game?" Tiana asks, noting my uncertainty about the unspoken seating arrangement.
"Yeah. Any unwritten rules I should know?"
"Cheer loud, don't distract him during free throws, and if someone from Riverside gets too close to him, you're allowed to yell creative threats." She grins. "Oh, and if we win, they'll be insufferable at the after-party."
"After-party?"
"Caleb didn't tell you? Win or lose, party at Jackson's house. Though if they lose, it's more drowning sorrows than celebrating."
The game starts and I understand immediately why Caleb doesn't talk about basketball much. On the court, he transforms—focused, graceful, confident in a way that has nothing to do with his bad boy image. He's genuinely talented, sinking shots from impossible angles, threading passes through defenses like he's doing calculus in his head.
When he steals the ball and scores in the third quarter, I'm on my feet screaming with everyone else. He actually looks up at me and winks, making my heart do something stupid and acrobatic.
At halftime, I notice the scouts huddled together, taking notes, their eyes following Caleb even when he's on the bench. One approaches someone in the stands—Hanna, I realize with a start. She's still in her bus driver uniform, must have come straight from work.
They talk for several minutes, Hanna nodding seriously, even smiling once. This is real. Caleb could actually get recruited. He could go to college, have options beyond this town.
The thought makes me proud and terrified simultaneously. What if he gets offered something far away? What if basketball becomes his new escape, the way I was his distraction?
The fourth quarter is brutal. They're down by six with three minutes left. Caleb's playing harder than I've ever seen him, sweat dripping, jaw clenched with determination that reminds me of a different kind of intensity. With thirty seconds left, they're still down by two.
Caleb gets the ball. The gym goes quiet. He fakes left, and the defender buys it. He shoots from beyond the three-point line, the ball arcing high.
The gym holds its breath.
The ball drops through the net, nothing but swoosh.
They win by one point.
The crowd explodes. His teammates mob him, but his eyes find me in the stands immediately. I'm crying, I realize, actually crying from pride and joy and this overwhelming feeling of watching someone I love succeed at something that matters.
After the team finishes celebrating in the locker room, Caleb finds me in the hallway. He's showered, changed into jeans and a henley, but still glowing with victory and possibility.
"You came," he says, pulling me against him. "You didn't study. You came to watch me play."
"Of course I came. You were amazing, Caleb. Those scouts were taking notes the whole time."
He pulls back slightly, and there's something vulnerable in his eyes. "One offered me a campus visit. Full tour, meet the team, see about a partial scholarship."
"Caleb, that's incredible! Which school?"
"State. About two hours from here." His eyes search mine. "It's not Yale, but—"
"Stop." I cup his face, making him look at me. "It's amazing. You could play college ball, get a degree. This is your chance."
"You don't think it's stupid? Me in college?"
"I think you're brilliant and you've been hiding it. This is just one more way to show it."
Jackson's party is already in full swing when we arrive. It's different from the parties I attended as V4L or as Caleb's fake girlfriend—now I'm just here, accepted, belonging. The team keeps replaying Caleb's final shot, each retelling making it more legendary.
"Yo, Harper!" Marcus calls out, already three beers in. "You're his good luck charm. He never played that good before you showed up to games."
I laugh. "He's been playing that good all along. You just needed someone to point it out to scouts."
Caleb's arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer.
Later, we escape to Jackson's backyard, away from the noise and celebration. We sit on a swing set that looks like it's been there since Jackson was five, chains creaking with age.
"You really think I could do it?" Caleb asks quietly, vulnerability creeping into his voice. "College? Basketball scholarship? Classes and essays and all that shit?"
"I think you can do anything you decide to do." I take his hand, lacing our fingers. "You stood up to my father. You got your grades up enough to graduate. You're already doing impossible things."
He's quiet for a moment, pushing the swing gently with his feet. "If I go to State, and you go somewhere else..."
"We'll figure it out," I say firmly. "People do long distance. People make it work when it matters."
"Does it? Matter?"
I turn to face him fully, making sure he sees the truth in my eyes. "You know it does. After everything we've been through? You think I'd let a couple hours' distance stop us?"
He kisses me then, soft and sweet, tasting like victory and hope.
My phone buzzes, breaking the moment. A text from Mrs. Harrison: Heard about tonight's game. Your boyfriend played well. Enjoy the celebration, but don't forget - Monday, 7 AM.
I show Caleb, who laughs, genuinely delighted. "Even Harrison knows about the game?"
"Small town. Everyone knows everything." I stand, pulling him up with me. "Come on. Let's go celebrate with your team. You earned this night."
Walking back to the party hand-in-hand, I realize this is what I missed all those years of perfect grades and rigid schedules—actual high school experiences. Messy, loud, imperfect moments that somehow matter more than any test score.
Monday I'll retake my exam, fight for my grades, reclaim my academic future. But tonight, I'm just a girl celebrating her boyfriend's success, living in the moment instead of planning for it.
And that's exactly where I want to be.